


This Could Be.

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Songfic, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orangeblossom BrambleburrThe night of 24 *Halimath*, 1421 SR, the last before Frodo sailed. Semi-songfic based on *Chris* by Thais Perkins; the title comes from the chorus.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	This Could Be.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither the lyrics nor the characters belong to me; I own only the angst and melancholy. And if you sue me, that's all you'll get.  
> Feedback: Please, please, I beg for it.  
> Story Notes: I dedicate this fic to Thais Perkins, whose sweet soprano, haunting guitar and evocative lyrics inspired this story. The song *Chris* is from her first CD, *Lampstand.*

_And you are like standing next to a fire;_ _Hot on one side,_   
_Cold on the other,_   
_And I never know which way to turn_   
_Or which side you'll show me_

Sam pulled his pony Bill up short, stroking the golden-brown mane absently. He wasn't paying proper attention to the pony at all and Bill whickered uncertainly, though this too escaped Sam's usually sharp senses. Sam's eyes were on Frodo, who was staring rather blankly into the distance. It worried Sam; Frodo just hadn't the pick-up-and-go he'd had in earlier days, before the quest, before the horrors they'd seen together.

It pained him; he knew Frodo was keeping things from him, which had never happened before. They'd shared secrets since they were both boys; Frodo had trusted Sam with many things that no one else in the Shire, not even Merry or Pippin knew. "Because they'll talk it over between them, and I don't know as I like that. But if you talk things over it will only be with the flowers in the garden, and otherwise you'll keep mum," Frodo had said once, years ago. And he had; the only time he'd ever betrayed his Master's confidence was when he'd told Merry and Pippin that Frodo would be leaving the Shire. Though he knew in his heart that was the right thing to do he still felt a faint squirm of guilt when he thought of it.

"Are you getting tired, Mr. Frodo? Its late enough in the day that we might make camp here if you like."

Frodo looked at Sam dully as if he didn't recognize him at once. Then he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Always taking care of me, aren't you Sam?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way," Sam said stoutly.

"Wouldn't you? I wonder."

Sam climbed down from Bill's back and crossed to where Frodo was still mounted on his pony Strider. "Don't wonder. Your Sam will always take care of you, and happily."

Again came the smile-that-wasn't-quite. "Thank you, Samwise." He eased himself out of the saddle. "This will make a nice place to camp, and thank heavens we've no memories of Riders right here."

Sam nodded uneasily, certain that it wasn't the unforgotten Black Riders that made his master's face so gray. Nor was it the waning light of day; it was something inside, something that gnawed. He resolved to do what he could to bring laughter back to that face, not just for tonight but for all time.

Once the two ponies were safely grazing on the new grass to the side of the road Sam set up their camp, hanging his pot over the small flames to preparing dinner. His pack was filled with provender; shortly a savory aroma seeped from the round black pot. He stirred it carefully before drawing a loaf of bread from where it lay swathed in a pretty cloth napkin. A pat of butter wrapped in dock leaves tumbled out of the parcel--Rosie must have put it there. He smiled.

"I've got supper ready for you, Mr. Frodo--" he began, then stopped. Frodo was nowhere to be seen; a small stone of panic lodged in his throat as he stood. "Mr. Frodo?" he called, but no reply came. The stone seemed to double in size as he walked about their campsite. Finally he saw him; Frodo was sitting against a tree with his arms crossed over his bent knees, staring out at the green hills.

"Mr. Frodo," he said as he came up behind the still figure and placed a hand on his back, "are you all right, there?"

Frodo turned and Sam felt his heart hitch; the light he'd always somehow seen in his master seemed to be back, making him nearly glow in the fading light, and he almost clapped a hand to his own forehead; it was the light that had been missing on their journey. "Yes, I'm all right. I'm quite hungry, and whatever you've made smells heavenly." Frodo smiled, this time enough to crinkle the corners of his blue eyes. "Do you know how dear you are to me, Samwise?"

Sam blushed. "Well, I reckon if I'm half as dear to you as you are to me, maybe I'm the second-most-dear hobbit in the Shire."

Frodo embraced him and kissed his cheek. "But are you happy? Really happy?"

"I am, right to my toes," Sam said. "I've got my Rosie, and I've got my Elanor-lass, and I've got my Frodo, all tucked up into the finest home in Hobbiton, and the whole of the Shire is blooming and growing." He reddened a bit more, "There now, I do run on. Why don't you muffle me when I rattle so?"

"Rosie makes you happy, doesn't she? She takes good care of you, I'm not so blind as not to see that."

Sam's eyes softened. "Aye, that she does, and of our wee maidchild. And of you, Mr. Frodo, you do know that Rosie cares what becomes of you?"

The pale face tightened almost imperceptibly. "I've no doubt. Come, enough talk, I'm hungry."

Sam leapt to his feet at once. "And here I am babbling on!" he said, shaking his head in disgust. He walked hurriedly back to the fire, rummaging in his pack for the round, wooden bowls he knew he'd placed there. He did not see Frodo's wistful gaze after him, nor did he feel the blue eyes running over and over his body, committing every detail to memory.

*And so we talked about the weather,*  
*And whether it was fine,*  
 _Getting colder._  
*Said, hey, maybe it'll rain*

The meal passed in comfortable quiet, both hobbits too hungry to properly converse. Sam walked off into the wood for a moment and returned with a pail of cool springwater. He poured some of it over the bowls to clean them, the rest he offered to Frodo who washed his face and hands. Sighing in satisfaction Frodo pulled out his slender clay pipe and smoked thoughtfully as Sam finished replacing his cooking gear in the worn pack. It had grown fully dark; the campfire shed a soft golden-red light on their little camp.

"Are you cold, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, wrapping a blanket about the thin shoulders before he could answer.

"Not any longer, thank you," he replied, smiling up at the younger hobbit. "Come, sit, have a pipe and a talk before sleeping."

Sam obligingly sat down, near enough that he brushed against Frodo if he moved. His own pipe was carved of dark wood and had belonged to the Gaffer; it had been handed down on a birthday years ago. He was proud of it; he faithfully kept it polished and between his care and the fineness of the wood itself it retained a lovely sheen. He inhaled deeply and tried to make a ring of the smoke, but the airs shifted too much and the neat circle quickly smeared and faded. He frowned slightly, wondering if he ought to mention the weariness he'd seen in Frodo of late, but Frodo spoke before he could screw up his courage.

"Beautiful night, wouldn't you say?"

"Aye. Them stars are bright; you can see the plough and the dancing-lady and the great arch just as clear as you want."

"But it gets cold when it's so clear."

"Don't you fear the cold now, Mr. Frodo, your Sam will keep you warm."

"And I'm sure it will be warmer tomorrow. The sun will shine, and the birds will sing..." Frodo trailed off absently, as if the thought continued in his mind but he'd forgotten to speak it aloud.

*And I looked in your eyes,*  
 _And I begged of your eyes_  
 _To give me_  
 _The language_  
*To respond in kind,*  
 _But your eyes had learned a new one_  
 _There was nothing left to say_

Sam shifted his weight so that he was half lying on his side, looking at Frodo. "Mr. Frodo, what's been worrying you? You haven't seemed yourself for some time."

Frodo dismissed the concern. "You fret too much over my well-being."

"I don't, and if you aren't fretting over it then I must needs do it for both of us then."

"You can't live your life worrying about me, Sam."

"I've done all right so far, doing just that," Sam said, his chin sticking out stubbornly.

Frodo sighed and looked away, the distant, melancholy look on his face again. Sam pulled him close, settling the dark, curly head against his chest the way he'd comfort little Elanor when she was upset. Frodo's body was unusually stiff in his arms; Sam stroked his back trying to ease him. Frodo tolerated this for only a moment before pulling away, gently yet firmly.

"Have I upset you?"

"No..." the reply was vague.

"Mr. Frodo?"

A long moment passed before Frodo answered, "Yes?"

Sam shifted again until Frodo was facing him and looked into those deep blue eyes. Usually they gazed back at him with love, or sparkled with mischief, but now they were veiled; Sam could not read any thoughts behind them. He wasn't sure what was harder to bear, the fact that he couldn't read those familiar eyes, or the fact that Frodo was hiding something behind them.

"Do you remember when we were boys?"

The blank look came again for a moment before Frodo smiled absently, "Of course. I can't remember boyhood without thinking of you; you were always so near at hand."

Sam nodded. "You used to tell me all your doings. You said you could trust me; I'd tell no one but the flowers, you said."

"Did I? Of course," Frodo said, a trifle mechanically.

"You can still tell me things, you know. I wouldn't even tell the flowers, now, if you did."

A sigh. "I know Sam. It's nothing, really. I'm just tired. So tired..." again he trailed off as if he'd forgotten he was talking. He shook his head as if to clear it and smiled across his face, cheeks stretching. He looked so suddenly boyish that Sam wanted to take him in his arms again but he stayed the impulse, still feeling a bit stung from being pushed aside.

Frodo didn't seem to notice. He stood and walked over to a stand of trees, plucking a few leaves. "These will change color soon; all those young trees you planted will turn orange and yellow." He said something else but it was so faint Sam couldn't quite hear it, though he was straining to.

"What was that, Mr. Frodo?"

"It will be beautiful."

_But this could be_   
_The last time we_   
_Ever speak this way_   
_Again_

Sam stood to check on the horses, pausing to stroke Bill's flank lovingly. When he returned to the campsite, Frodo was still standing by the tree, the green leaves clutched in his hands. "I'm too tired to go on, I have to rest," he said, but he did not move towards the bedrolls Sam had placed close to the fire.

"Lets get you settled in, then," Sam said, at once at his side with an arm about Frodo's shoulders.

Frodo said nothing but allowed Sam to tuck him in among warm blankets. He watched Sam putter about the campsite before he spoke, "Stay with me."

"Of course I will."

"I need you. Just once...just be with me, Sam."

He didn't need to be asked twice, though he still felt a bit hesitant. With a faint shrug he crawled up close to Frodo, wrapping the blankets around them both. It was warm in his master's embrace, and Frodo's kisses were tender and sweet, and for a time he wasn't worried about his strangeness, tears of relief and joy welling over his cheeks.

Afterwards, he drifted to sleep, Frodo clinging tightly to him. He didn't know that the tears he'd tasted hadn't all been his own, nor did he know that Frodo lay awake for some time beyond him, staring into the round, familiar face with quiet desperation.

_This could be_   
_The last time I_   
_Ever see your face_   
_Again_


End file.
